sucky baby.

I’ve never been this excited about a bottle, nor its contents.

Last week I popped into Staples to pick up some supplies, and picked up this water bottle on a whim. I liked the colour, size and shape; I thought it would be a nice thing to have on hand for Aisha in the future. She likes to drink water, and will take it from a cup – although she refuses to take it from one of her regular bottles.

The little spout at the top flips up and down and has a straw attached. The function is pretty much straightforward; flip up top, put spout to mouth and sip. Voila! Thirst quenched. I think we take this action for granted. I have a friend whose son is either 12 or 13 and doesn’t know how to drink from a straw due to feeding/gastro issues he had as a small infant. Aisha couldn’t figure out how to breastfeed, so I hand expressed my milk and fed it to her from a bottle; kids with Down Syndrome can sometimes have suckling issues associated with low muscle tone. There are a ton of online message boards and parent forums chock full of tips and tricks on how to get little ones with DS to drink from bottles and straws.  Continue reading

the heavy.

TWITM_the heavy_sexyAisha smizing. She’s sexy and she knows it.

When Aisha was born, she was a wee thing of just over six pounds. In June, at her six-month checkup, the paediatrician informed me that she weighed 18 lb 9oz. She’d gone from being in the 20th percentile for both height and weight in her fourth month, to the 90th percentile for weight (and only 10th in height – womp, womp).

When I relaid the information to our home care nurse, her eyes widened and she said, “Oh, my! Babies are supposed to triple their birth weights by about one year of age…she’s already past that.”

I’m not entirely surprised. Last week I wrote about her healthy appetite. Her current love of all things edible means she’ll likely be a Chunky McButtons well into toddler-hood. Continue reading

Food champ.

TWITM_foodchamp_chubblyAisha, about two months ago. Chubbly! Bubbly! She has thinned out quite a bit since then.
She will certainly hate me for this one day.

I always find it funny when someone asks, “is she a good eater?” I mean, it’s pretty evident from the rolls in her arms and the chub in her cheeks (and arms, and legs) that li’l miss Aisha doesn’t miss a meal. Instead of rolling my eyes, I simply jerk my head in her direction and reply, “she didn’t get that size from NOT eating, that’s for sure.”

From about four months of age, Aisha was interested in eating, and even though her doctor advised me to wait a few more months to circumvent the possibility of early allergies, there was no waiting for this kid. By the time she’d reached 5.5 months, the girl was eating cereal, fruit purees, smashed veggies and basically little bits of anything she could work around her mouth and smush with her gums.  Continue reading

TMI tuesdays: does a body good.

pleasant-associations
It’s official. My boobs have gone from pleasers to feeders.

Since my largesse has made me an insomniac, I spend an inordinate amount of time browsing the innerwebs. I alternate between Pinning and researching all manner of baby stuff.

Peanut is due practically any day now, and I’ve been wondering at what point will my milk start to come in? Every time I shower, I squeeze and (wo)man-handle the girls in an attempt to produce some kind of response, but alas, nothing but dust. I started to worry that if my babe came early, she’d starve, ’cause her mama’s newfound tatas are only good to look at.

And then I came across this article, and realized that my technique was all wrong. Curious (and, I admit, dubious), I whipped off my top right there in my computer chair and began using the method described. Instant success. I couldn’t believe it. The secret is all in the hold. Previously, I’d just been tweaking the nipples (which, I’ve since learned, can actually induce labour) and coming up dry.

I can NOT get enough of my new trick. I’ve been trying it out as often as I can, marvelling at the output. Mind you, it’s certainly not gushes by any stretch of the imagination; it’s not even possible that I’ve produced a half-millilitre of anything. But still! My boobs! They make…stuff!

When I told the boy that my milk had started coming in, he gave me a confused look, and then put up his hand. “Uh…high five?” He offered.

“Yes!” I squealed, and smacked his palm. “It’s good thing! It means I can feed Peanut.”
“Oh. Awesome.” He nodded in approval.

I thought about actually showing him, but he freaked out at the size my stomach the other day, so I spared him the demo. I also opted not to tell him that I’d tasted it*. He probably would have run screaming from the room.

(*Oh, like you’ve never tasted your own? Please.)